


The Beginning of Lyanna and Rhaegar

by meglo_x



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-01-26 03:36:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 17,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12547944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meglo_x/pseuds/meglo_x
Summary: This is the story of Rhaegar and Lyanna, the beautiful beginning to their bitter end. From their meeting, to the end of the bloody rebellion.





	1. The Queen Of Love and Beauty

The blue petals settled in her lap as she stared at disbelief of the blue crown in front of her. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t believe it when Rhaegar had rode past his own beautiful dornish wife, and slowed in front of her. How could he humiliate her this way? she refused the embarrasment, as she look up defiantly at the silver prince. Ned’s protective hand tightened ever so slightly around her wrist, hearing the whispers erupt softly around them. His lilac eyes burned into hers, but she did not smile. Neither did he. Little did he know, Rhaegar had just confirmed his dark fate. Not by placing the crown on Lyanna’s lap, but by looking into her haunting grey eyes. He did not know then that he was spindling out of control. Their fate was sealed.

“Lyanna.” Ned tried, later, in her chambers. 

“What, Ned?” But she knew exactly what.

“I just… I just don’t know. I don’t understand.” Lovely Ned. He had always tried to be wiser beyond his years. 

“I understand perfectly. He thinks just because he’s a prince he’s owed things, despite him having a wife. He wants me as a bloody conquest,” She swore. “Don’t worry Ned, I wont be swayed.”  
Ned saw the slight tint of red in her cheeks whenever she got angry. He inwardly smiled. Lyanna. His fierce, wolf sister. 

“He can take that flower crown and shove it up his-“

“He’s still our prince Lyanna.” Ned interrupted. At this point. Lyanna grabbed the flower crown and started to ball up the pale petals in her fists, ripping them from the intertwined vines.

“Lyanna.” Ned took her shoulders and pulled her into a hug.

“I don’t need your pity, Eddard.” She joked as she hugged him back. But lyanna’s frustration was rooted deeper than Rhaegar. She was frustrated with herself. At Harrenhal, ever since they arrived, she often found it hard to tear her eyes away from the prince. She didn’t mind it, necessarily, when she caught him staring at her from across the room. The frustration was having to remind herself of Elia, his wife, and the pure impossibility of there being a courtship. Among many, many reasons. The mad king. Robert Baratheon. 

There was no place for love in a world like this, she decided. This world was bloody, hard, unforgiving, and above all else, hateful. Another reason why she begged her father to let her carry a sword on her hip. He was much less strict in Winterfell, but here in Harrenhal, with the tourney, with the royalty and hundreds of spectators, there was no room for riding leathers or swords for women. Only silk dresses. Kind words in a Lamentful world.  
“Don’t let the prince bother you.”

“I wont spare him another thought.” She said with a big grin on her face, despite she knew this would be exceedingly difficult.


	2. The Invitation

Her underclothes clung to her underneath the over-sized armour with sweat. Lyanna tore off the jangly helmet, and gasped for fresh air, instead of the stuffy moist air under the helmet. Wisps of her long dark hair fell out of the single braid that fell down her back. As she choked for breath. She couldn’t help but grin as she remembered how she unhorsed so many of those stupid hedge knights. Nobody knew who she was, but the ‘laughing tree’ knight. HA. Knight. She could finally prove Brandon wrong, she did become a knight someday, even if it was just for a couple of hours.

“You there!” A deep voice called out to her.

She couldn’t turn around. Her sex would be discovered. Instead she took off in a rather ungainly fashion with her armour clanking. Unfortunately, Lyanna was still small. Though, athletic for a girl, she could hear the mysterious figure’s racing towards her, as she tried to race away.

“STOP!” The voice said as he grabbed her arm.

He yanked her around and she was met with Prince Rhaegar’s face. She was not intimidated even as he stood more than a foot taller than her, however, she would not know what her lord father would do if he found out she was the laughing knight.

Rhagear was stunned. Flushed crimson, strands of hair sticking to Lyanna’s face, she was even more beautiful up close. He didn’t even register that her face was stuck in a place between fear and rage. 

“Unhand me, prince.” She spat as she tried to struggle away from his grasp. She noticed the admiration on his face, it was painfully clear. 

“Lady Lyanna…” 

His voice again. It alluded Lyanna how his voice didn’t match his face. His face, framed by his white blonde hair, was blessed with prominent cheekbones, and a boyish mouth. The eyes, by god’s the eyes. Typical Targaryen lilac. They were almost forboding. His voice, was so, so sad. Well, she thought, he didn't sound sad, it was more the undertones, it was a resonated with the vibrations on a sombre violin. His sad voice made her heart twist with joy. 

His eye’s trailer down to her armour, and his next words were so ridiculous given the situation she could’ve laughed. “You couldn’t find better fitting armour?”

“Forgive me, does this offend you? It wasn’t as if I had my own armour. Rhaegar.” She mocked a deep, deep ungraceful curtsy, and Rhaegar’s mouth curled slightly at the edges.

His smile almost made her forget the current situation.

“My father, nor anyone else for that matter, cannot know.” Lyanna said with determination.

“Of course my lady. I can’t help but wish to see if you unhorse the real players tomorrow, however.” Rhaegar jested.

“My Lord, I almost wish I could, just to see all of their distraught faces. And to also unhorse you.” She grinned.

“You could never unhorse me. You’re too delicate.” The comment was meant to irk her, but he knew that when given the chance, Lyanna without a doubt could unhorse him.

“And you, a craven. I need to go dress as Lyanna Stark again, before someone sees me, goodbye.” Was that sadness he heard in her voice?

“Lyanna.” He retained his hold on her arm.

“Yes, craven?”

“I… I just…” It was funny. This brooding, intimidating man appeared almost boyish in front of her, if not only for a second. A young boy groping for words.

But he wasn’t a young boy, he was a married prince. A Targaryen.

The brief, beautiful, bubble of this meeting was now slowly disintegrating. Reality was seeping through the cracks. But it was nice to play pretend for awhile.

“Come riding with me?” Risk. No, not risk, stupidity. Pure ignorance. There was already talk after he named her Queen beauty. This was desperation. 

And yet Lyanna did not find herself saying no.

“Please?” His grasp moved further up her arm.

“Not quite like a prince to beg, is it?” She said with a smug smile.

“Not quite like a lady to joust.”

She smiled, and that was confirmation enough for Rhaegar. He loosened his grip and watched her disappear around the corner. The pure stupidity of what had just occurred was beyond Rhaegar, he tried to ignore the irrefutable panic inside his throat. He will not insult Elia by comparing Lyanna to her. Elia was a political marriage. Lyanna… She was… She was a cool breath of air in the midst of a sweltering, suffocating heat. She was also his downfall. And he knew this. 

In secret, they met on horse in the depths of the godswood. 

“Rhaegar!” She called with a sly smile. The smile hid the shaking of her fingertips as she saw him leaning against a large tree. Or at least she’d hoped.

“Lyanna.” He openly grinned. He genuinely grinned. This caused Lyanna to think back to the great hall, the feast, when Rhaegar blessed everyone with a song on the harp. She weeped with the pathos of it. The subtle tune came so obviously from Rhaegar’s heart, she weeped for him.

It was strange to see such a sad man smile. 

The afternoon ensued with fast-paced riding throughout the woods, and with plenty of laughter. Especially when Rhaegar swerved a tree (that apparently appeared out of nowhere) and fell off his horse and became winded form the impact. Lyanna couldn’t contain herself. An unladylike snort burst out, followed by a loud bellowing laughter. It was simply contagious. 

“Do you need help, Prince? From such a delicate lady such as myself?” She giggled, as she stepped off the horse.

Rhaegar was somewhere in-between coughing and laughing on his back, and Lyanna slumped ungracefully beside him.  
The scene was beautiful. Lyanna’s deep grey eyes were a storm of emotion, and each being had a smile spreading from their ears. 

Between his father descending into madness, Elia, the growing turmoil of the seven kingdoms, Rhaegar couldn’t remember the last time he had been genuinely happy. Maybe at his sons birth, but even that was tainted with Elia’s weakened condition. 

He looked at Lyanna with such a deep admiration, it was a rash change from the jesting and silliness. He couldn’t help himself as he reached towards her face, the perfect porcelain jawline, out of pure awe. 

“Rhaegar…” She paused as he rubbed his thumb back and forth her flushed cheeks. They took a collective sigh, closing their eyes, and pressing their foreheads together, in such an innocent act. 

“I’m betrothed,” She breathed.

“And I, married.” He cupped her face in his hands and pressed the gentlest of kisses onto her lips. 

And in that moment, and that moment only, the world was perfect.


	3. The Getaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaegar and Lyanna meet in the woods for a little sword fighting.

“Okay, prince. Show me how it’s done”. With an obnoxious confidence, Lyanna grabbed the longsword of the ground, and immediately grunted with the weight of it.

“It’s heavier than I’m used to.” She mused as she regained her balance.

Rhaegar smirked. “I’ll give you a moment.”

“I dont need a moment!” She said stubbornly.

Their escapades were becoming more slowly becoming more frequent. Lyanna taking off by herself was not uncommon in Winterfell, but in King’s Landing, her father expressed more than a little distaste for it. She respected her father too much to disobey him, but, she didn’t care for his rules or anger when Rhaegar was involved. 

As fierce as Lyanna was, she was still a maid, and naïve. While these getaways occured, deep, deep in the woods, she thought it impossible that anyone could follow, or guess where she was.

Spiders were everywhere in King’s landing. Spiders and little birds. 

And so here they were, deep in the woods, swords in hand. 

“Why aren't I surprised you want to do this?” Rhaegar laughed. 

“Just because! I don't want you to act as if I’ll break. I wont learn if you’re afraid of hurting me. Besides, you can’t possibly be any more rough than Bran is.” Brandon Stark was tall and hulking, on the heavier side, whereas Rhaegar was tall, but still lean. He wasn’t skinny in any sense of the word, she could tell muscle still hid underneath his clothes. He was admired for his skill in fighting around King’s Landing.

“People say you’re pretty good.” With that statement, Rhaegar buried his face in his hands and laughed. She loved his laugh. He wasn’t one of those people who laughed politely at a poor joke, or laughed to fill to awkward silence. He only laughed genuinely. Maybe she loved it more because it was so rare for anyone to hear. 

Lyanna wore her long black hair in a single braid down her back, and for today, she had dismissed the gowns and wore simple riding leathers. She was always most comfortable in this, whilst she didn't mind the gowns and admired their beauty, she felt more herself in clothes like these. Rhaegar wore his usual clothing, but today, he wore simpler attire, brown breeches and a loose fitting white shirt. His hair was also held back in a low ponytail.

“Okay, Lady Lyanna, plant your feet, but remain light on them. You're small, you can use this to your advantange.” He stood.

“Plant my feet but remain light on them? You’re talking nonsense.” She frowned, attempting both lightness and plantedness.

“So if I were to do this-“ Rhaegar gave her a light shove, and Lyanna lost her balance. “That doesn't happen,” He says catching her wrist before she hit the soft, leaf riddled floor. 

Lyanna attempted the same shove, though considerably more forceful, and Rhaegar remained planted, with a smug look on his face. 

“Don’t go making a fool out of me.” She said with distain. 

“I don’t want to insult you, but I think you should consider using sticks at first.”

“I’m not a small child fooling around with swords, Rhaegar, I’ve done this before.”

“Stubbornness is not a lady’s virtue.” He mocked.

“Do I look like I give a damn?” She grinned. 

To catch her off guard, Rhaegar attempted to swing at Lyanna with the flat of his sword, and she, effortlessly, dodged the blade, seeing the quick swing before impact. He tried again, and she ducked it. 

“Stop playing.” She teased as she tapped his sword with hers, and they both took fencing stance. 

They danced the dance of swords, the metal ringing throughout the woods whenever blade met blade. 

“STOP PLAYING,” She shouted as she slammed the flat of her blade against Rhaegar’s arm with a force that stunned him. Sweat caused hair on both their heads to stick to their face, and Lyanna stared up at him with a ferocious determination, her breath throttling out her mouth.

Whatever reservations Rhaegar held about fighting Lyanna disappeared. She deserved to be treated like a warrior, because that’s what she is, Rhaegar realised.

It became brutal, vicious attacks on each other, and Lyanna realised she was outmatched. Rhaegar stopped his blade inches away from shattering her bones ten times over. Rhaegar’s brutal force overcame him, and he landed a blow on Lyanna, by pure accident.

‘SEVEN HELLS.’ She swore, clenched her jaw, squeezing her eyes shut. 

‘Lyanna-‘ Rhaegar immediately dropped his sword with a clang, and reached out, his face a display of grief.

She pointed her sword at him, ‘Pick it up’, she said with a slight smile playing on her lips, the pain causing her hands to shake. 

‘Lyanna, I’m so sorry, please forgive me.’ The concern was visible on his face, he touched her shoulder where he hit her.

As hard as she tried to hide it, she winced as he made contact.

‘I can hardly blame you, I asked for it.’ She grinned as she slumped down against a tree.

‘I didn’t mean to hurt you.’ He slumped beside her.

‘I know.’

‘As much as I admire it, you’re too stubborn for your own good, Lyanna.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘The real problem, Rhaegar, is how in the bloody hells am I meant to explain this?’ She said gesturing to her injury.

‘You’re a tough one, I’ll give you that.’ 

‘Is that the only compliment you’ll pay me?’ A coy smile played on her lips. ‘If you say I fight well for a lady, so help me, I shall never forgive you.’

‘You fight well.’ He said shyly. ‘Not just for a lady.’

Warmth burned inside Lyanna as the compliment rolled off his tongue. 

‘You’re not too bad yourself.’

‘Who knows, maybe with some practise you’ll best me one day.’ The promise of more practise made her heart flutter. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised.’

Silence ensued. The memory of their kiss was always a constant, grating, thought on both their minds. Whilst it was pure bliss at the time, it was a promise of danger. He wanted, needed, to kiss her again. If that was the first and last time he’d ever kiss her he know the rest of his life would be a miserable and dark world. These moment’s he stole away from the noise of court, was the only time he knew peace, with Lyanna.

‘God’s know I need practise.’ Rhaegar said, shoving away the thoughts of Lyanna’s lips. ‘The storm lord has challenged me to a boxing match.’

‘Robert?!’ The mention of her betrothed’s name brought a sickness to her stomach. Robert was a hot-headed, unforgiving, stubborn man. Boy, she thought. Only a boy would thirst for such unnecessary glory, only a boy would whore away his night’s then claim to love his betrothed the next morning. 

Though she didn't necessarily mind Robert’s company, and always said polite and lovely words to him as she should, and laughed at his crude jokes, she dreaded their marriage. She didn’t know her well, and yet he claimed to love her. Robert would love anyone if they were beautiful enough. Maybe he loved the whores he fucked at the brothel. She was hardly bitter about the whores though, and she supposed there were worse people to be betrothed to. He knew he would always treat her with respect. People thought him to be handsome, with his jet-black hair, strong face, and muscled body. 

Of course he would challenge Rhaegar. Robert’s pride was a delicate thing, and ever since Rhaegar crowned Lyanna queen of love and beauty, he had taken personal offence. He needed to assert his dominance over Rhaegar, like a bull or dog.

‘And you accepted?’ She said looking down, she feared for Rhaegar’s health. Robert hunted and boxed regularly, and his weapon of choice a war hammer. A weapon for the vicious and heavy.

Rhaegar placed his hand over Lyanna’s, and squeezed. Ever since the kiss this was the most tender action Rhaegar dared. 

‘I did. You know, it was all in good humour.’ Rhaegar knew it wasn't in good humour. ‘Would’ve been a bad sport if I hadn’t.’

‘But still, you didn't have to.’ It was unspoken that this match was going to take place because of Lyanna.

‘Is that worry I hear in your voice, Lady Lyanna?’ He smiled. ‘Do you believe I wont be able to best him?’

‘I don’t want you to get hurt.’ She said quietly. She was looking down, avoiding eye contact, and Rhaegar’s brow knotted. 

He cupped her face with both hands, brought her face to his and kissed her with subtle passion. It was all Lyanna could think about since the last one, Rhaegar was all she could think about.

It wasn't a silly crush, like all the ones Jane Snow had back in Winterfell. She would always come find Lyanna right away, and tell her all the silly little details of her latest crush, and Lyanna would listen politely. 

This was a burning desire. A need for him, a need to be around him. She toyed with the idea that he was just seducing her for his own pleasure, it kept her up at night. But that wasn’t enough to stop her from accepting his invitations to getaways. 

She was overcome with madness, and the madness only intensified when he kissed her.

Her fingertips burned to touch his face, run through his hair. He needed her to know how much her cared for her, she was not afraid when she pulled him closer, needing more of him. Her heart shuddered in her ribcage, and she realised this was what insanity was.


	4. The Fight

“I have to say, I’m surprised you accepted. I thought you a bookish man.” Robert mused as Rhaegar came near.

The room roared with rowdy men, desperate to see this vicious fight of the two lords. It was a thunderous noise, it surprised Lyanna. She only heard such noises from the poor folk in flea bottom in kings landing. As she inched forward, above in the galleries, hidden, she wondered if she actually wanted to see this. She had begged Ned to tell her the location, it was common knowledge among the men, but an unspoken rule that woman were not permitted. 

Ned knew that Lyanna didn’t truly love Robert, but he merely thought that she was here to support him. To see that he didn’t get hurt. It didn’t occur to him that it was to see that Rhaegar wasn’t hurt. 

She was somehow disappointed in the men. Practically slaves to their pride, she thought. It was plain to Lyanna that this fight was taking place because of her, and she felt like a prize to be won, and the fact that Robert attempted to win her, to own her, made her angry. He needed to assert his dominance, like the brute he was. She could forgive Rhaegar for accepting, after all, he did not ask for this. Wars had been fought over less. Many people have died for the pride of men. 

And yet, here she was. She’d bought Jane Snow with her, for company. Jane simply revelled in the fact that there was practically overflowing young men beneath her. 

Rhaegar forced a smile at Robert’s ‘joke’. Robert had already removed his shirt, and he only wore trousers and boots. The man’s body truly was a sight to behold. He had a heaving chest and brooding shoulders and arms like a tree’s trunk. He usually seemed a giant, but Rhaegar was of similar height.

“No hair-pulling, Robert.” He joked. Rhaegar pulled off his shirt and threw it aside, revealing his naked torso. Robert had clearly underestimated the ‘bookish’ Rhaegar. Lyanna thought him a masterpiece. Whilst he had a more slender torso, he had broad shoulders, and his long arms curved and dented with heaving muscle. His back was intricately lined, with a deep dent where his spine lay. 

‘Looks like your betrothed might actually have a worthy competition,’ Jane said to her, practically eating Rhaegar with her eyes. 

Robert threw his arms in the air, feeling the crowd’s roars, while Rhaegar was wrapping his knuckles. They took their stance, and as they reviewed each other, Lyanna noticed that Robert’s steps were sloppy, and he rarely guarded his face. Typical, she thought. 

Of course, Robert threw the first hit, his fist flying for Rhaegar’s face, of which Rhaegar quickly dodged, however Robert’s other fist flew from the other side as Rhaegar dodged, and it caught him square in the jaw, and he stumbled. 

Robert did not hesitate to take advantage to Rhaegar’s stumbling, taking ahold of his shoulders and kneeing him in the stomach with a savage force. Rhaegar grunted.

Instead of gagging, Rhaegar took ahold of Robert’s shoulder’s too, and it became an agonising fight of whom could pull the other one away from their grasp. Grunts of frustration erupted from Robert. He’d underestimated Rhaegar’s strength. Purple splotches had already emerged at Rhaegar’s jaw, and droplet’s of sweat were formed on the faces, rolling down their backs. The heat of hundreds of bodies filled the room, and the exertion of the two fighters was visible. 

Rhaegar planted his foot around Robert, forced his body onto it, and he was pulled to the ground. 

Like a good sport, Rhaegar waited for Robert to regain his footing before ensuing the fight. 

Rhaegar did not strike Lyanna as a vicious person, but it became obvious that violence released something inside him. He became an animal, advancing on Robert and landing punches on him from all sides. Robert’s hits were less frequent but more forceful, but Rhaegar hit many more. It was indeed a different side to him, one that scared her. He was known to be kind and noble in the court, but Lyanna had always found it hard to believe him a vicious warrior. She did not doubt it anymore. 

They weren’t two men, down in the ring anymore. They were two savage creatures. Rhaegar’s vision momentarily blurred with exertion, Robert’s fist met his nose, and the impact caused immediate spurting of blood, drooling down Rhaegar’s face, covering Robert’s hand. Robert’s tree-trunk-like arms were around his neck, choking the air out of his lungs, darkening his eyesight. 

Madness and greatness. Two sides of the same coin.

Lyanna only seemed to blink when suddenly Robert was pinned underneath Rhaegar on his back, repeatedly hitting Rhaegar’s chest, trying to escape. His face was a mess of blood as Rhaegar was savagely beating him. Robert’s hands eventually became more feeble, and soon rested at his side. Rhaegar stopped, paused, and arose.

The room erupted into screams of applause, shouts of Rhaegar’s name, as the audience flooded into the rings, and he disappeared into the mass of people. 

Lyanna was in a state of shock, trying to swallow the ball of fear in her throat. The image of kind, sad Rhaegar was now partially distorted. She didn’t see the warrior that so many people claimed was the Dragon Prince, but now, she did. Lyanna’s knuckled were white from holding onto the barring so tight, and Jane laughed at her reaction. She tried to find his face in the crowd, needing to see his kind face, needing to see his nobleness. But she couldn't find him. Only Robert’s bruised body attempting to be revived.


	5. Before the Ball

Jane delicately dabbed rouge on Lyanna’s cheeks, chattering about the new friend she made today, Cersei Lannister. Beautiful, blonde, lioness Cersei, with equally beautiful twin brother Jaime. She seemed to hold a lot of pride for a young girl, however. Lyanna had no interest in being her friend. 

‘Why did you wear you hair like that?’ Lyanna asked curiously. Jane had adopted the southern hairstyle, with it all up and out of her face. Lyanna thought she looked like a mouse, with the braids intricately wound up like ears.

‘Nothing wrong with trying something new. I always feel a bit out of place with my northern hair.’ Lyanna thought Jane was so beautiful. She had mousey brown hair, hazel eyes, and her cheeks full and sculpted. Even still a maiden, she had a seducing look about her, maybe it was her lips that were constantly parted, always seeming ready for a kiss. 

‘You look gorgeous.’ Lyanna said genuinely. Despite her being a bastard, she was a noble bastard, and well respected. She’d donned a pristine sky blue dress, with beautiful myrish lace lining the edges of the dress, artfully arranged in pointed edges. A simple silver chain hang around her neck.

She blushed a pretty pink. ‘Don’t be stupid Lya. I always feel plain next to you.’

‘Now you’re being the stupid one,’ Lyanna laughed. ‘You have men fall at your feet,’

‘As much as I love men,’ Jane mused as she toyed with Lyanna’s hair, decided what to do with it, ‘They think with their cocks. Only the special ones don’t, and I’ve yet to have one of those fall at my feet.’ Lyanna snorted at Jane’s crude humour. ‘I truly believe they’re all just completely stupid. They’re like monkeys.’ 

‘I think monkeys are smarter.’ She said in-between her bellowing laughter.

‘Truly.’ She giggled. ‘Which dress are you wearing? I don’t know if it should be up or down.’ Jane said gesturing to Lyanna’s hair.

Lynn scoffed. ‘You have a better sense of style anyway, could you pick?’ 

Without hesitation, Jane excitedly hurried to the closet and picked out a deep blood red gown.

A sly smile played on her lips. ‘For heavens sake, wear the bloody dress Lyanna. You want men to fall at your feet? Wear the dress!’

Lyanna rolled her eyes and sat on the chair, awaiting for her hair to be done.

‘How do you seduce men?’ She asked, out of the blue, knowing Jane has had her fair share of seducing men. Lyanna was in no hurry to jump into bed with any man. If anything, the thought scared her, even if men were only monkeys.

‘Oh, I can’t even tell you how long I’ve waited for you to ask me this. We’re hardly little girls anymore Lyanna, and you have an immense, delicious piece of muscle as your betrothed.’

‘You make him sound like a meal you absolute minx.’ She grinned. 

‘Even the lowest of men like to be treated like kings. A woman can make any man feel like a king. Feed their ego’s, and they’ll be wrapped around your little finger. Make intense eye contact, and draw attention to your lips, brush your fingers against them or something. Perhaps lean forward a tiny bit if you're wearing a low cut dress.’

‘You’re truly wise,’ Lyanna mused.

‘It wont be hard for you, I swear. You only had to give Prince Rhaegar a single look and he crowned you Queen of Love and Beauty, instead of his own wife. You’re truly beautiful Lyanna.’ Jane finished as she finished her hair. ‘Now go put on the godforsaken dress!’

She didn’t think herself beautiful. She was blessed with northern features, black hair and grey eyes. Pale skin that easily flushed. The true northerners always had a fierce look about them, and Lyanna was no exception, with broad straight eyebrows and dented cheekbones. Deep set eyes. She somehow managed to be pretty, beautiful, and yet, fierce. She valued ferocity more than beauty.

Lyanna emerged, her long black hair cascading in waves down her back with small delicate braids tying in a knot behind her head. A chain littered with small deep red rubies was intertwined in the braids. The blood red dress sloped off her shoulders, and it hugged her torso, flourishing at the hips into a loose sweeping skirt. Embroidered deeper red vines kept up stomach from her waist, fading before they reached her shoulders.

‘By gods.’ Jane swore. ‘Every single man, woman and child will not be able to tear their eyes off you, Lya.’ Jane said in wonderment.

‘I feel like a slight fool.’ Lyanna indeed felt like a princess, and she thought it wasn’t becoming of her.

‘Just because they’re not bloody riding leathers! Come, we’re going to ball wether you like it or not.’


	6. Rhaegar receives some news

“It’s true.” Elia beard her teeth into a smile with tears in her large chocolate eyes. “Rhaegar, it’s true,” She caressed her belly.

Elia, pretty, sweet Elia had told Rhaegar the news of her pregnancy. He was momentarily stunned, as several raging thoughts hit him at once.

The most overpowering - Joy. 

Shaking, he felt tears fill his eyes too. “Elia.” He quickly took ahold of her jaw and pressed and intense and genuine kiss onto her forehead. 

She took ahold of his hands, and kissed them. “I thought it wasn’t possible, but I prayed Rhaegar, I prayed.” The tears spilled down her cheeks and fell into the corners of her smile. 

He remembered their wedding day. An awkward affair, not helped by Rhaegar’s natural charm. Poor Elia looked as if she was about to burst into tears with every passing second. Their wedding night was worse. Even when Rhaegar bid the spectators away, he could not make her comfortable. 

“Elia.” He looked into her eyes. Despite this being a political marriage, Rhaegar deeply cared about Elia. This scared him. Elia’s last pregnancy almost killed her, and through all the joy, this fear was rooted deeply in his mind. “No matter what happens, I will do my best to protect you. No harm will come to you for as long as I live.” He cried.

Silent shocks were sent through Elia’s body as she sobbed. “I know,” she said quietly.

Silent moments passed, their bodies unclosed in a hug.

“I wish I could promise the same to you, Rhaegar.” She said into his chest. “You worry me. You hardly sleep and when you do you’re wracked with nightmares. You squirm and cry in bed. I don’t know how to protect you.” 

He sighed. “That’s of no concern. Especially not to my beautiful, pregnant wife.” He said into her chocolate hair. Every compliment he paid her felt like a betrayal. To Elia or Lyanna he wasn't sure. 

The nightmares were becoming more frequent. He was filled with a fiery and burning heat at times, others it was a crushing freeze. Horrifying images filled his brain, and they seemed all to real at night. Dragons with three heads. A dragon nestling in both ice and fire, revelling in it. Sometimes the dragon was both ice and fire. There was a child, and a song that had no words but it haunted him. He felt himself dying in a pit of fire and ice simultaneously.

Growing up, Rhaegar watched his father slip with ease into the madness. He couldn’t remember a sane man at any point. He would talk of dragons, and fire. It seemed inescapable. Even as a boy, Rhaegar knew that they were the descendants of conquerors and dragon warriors, but he found it hard to picture when he saw his snivelling and unhinged father. 

Rhaegar had heard of the prophecy. The prophecy of the song of ice and fire, he never indulged in such nonsense. And yet, at night, he’d never felt such fear. 

But the dragons were dead.


	7. An angel in a ballroom

An angel had graced the great hall this evening. With Ned on her arm, she swept across the floor, keeping her head held high, trying to snuff out the self-conscious feeling in her stomach.

Lyanna was an angel, Rhaegar decided. He grey eyes had been lighted smudged with black, her grey eyes glowing etherally. And that red dress. She grinned nervously as she sat down, watching the floor flood with dancers. 

An uneasy feeling rose amongst all the guests in the room when Aery’s Targaryen stood, and shouted for quiet.

‘GUESTS. I have news.’ The slur in his voice suggested he was in a drunken state, and his wife Rhaella flushed a crimson, keeping her face straight.

“It seems…” He paused, finding the right words. Rhaegar looked stonily ahead. “My son. Rhaegar. It seems he’s bred with and impregnated this Dornish woman here.” He gestured to Elia, who had tears in her eyes. 

“Yes, yes. Happy news indeed. They are married after all, not as if she’s some whore.” Aerys’ rambling was not just due to his drunkeness, but his slowly impending insanity. Elia’s tears streamed down her face, looking down so as to not embarrass herself.

“Why are you crying, girl? It’s a happy day! Celebrate!” He thrust his fist into the air, holding a wine cup, spilling it so it dripped down his arm, staining the white fabric.

The wine only induced his state. Every single person in the hall stared down in their laps, ashamed. Rhaegar still hadn’t mastered how to handle his father. He only squeezed Elia’s hand with an expression of fearsome rage on his face. Elia’s chest was now seizing silently, the tears not stopped. She daren’t let out a breath for fear she might start sobbing. It seemed her chest might explode. 

“Wife.” Aerys’ called. Rhaella looked up dutifully, but ashamed. “Join me in my chambers. Now.” 

A normal wife might call out, refuse, stating the shame of such a sentiment. Aerys’ odd and sadistic hobbies in the bedroom were no secret. They could hear Rhaella’s screams. They could see the bruises on her pretty neck, no matter how hard she tried to cover them. But Rhaella was no normal wife. She knew not to protest. She knew Aerys’ rage would only be more fearsome if she did anything but nod dutifully and follow him out of the room. 

She only nodded, gave an polite and apologetic look to the crowd, and followed a swerving and stuttering Aerys out of the room. 

And then there was silence. Followed by a tentative playing of the musicians. Followed by an awkward chatter. Elia had stopped crying. 

Through all the madness, Lyanna’s heart hurt. Elia was pregnant. This is ridiculous, she thought. Of course she’s pregnant, she is, after all, his wife. They’re fulfilling their duty. She had no right to be jealous, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get the image of Rhaegar and Elia… conceiving this new baby.   
“Lya, is everything okay?” Ned’s voice shocked her out of her thoughts. She would not be jealous, she decided. Jealousy is for mad kings and for silly little girls. 

“Yes. My heart goes out to Rhaella.” She said softly. She couldn’t imagine the hell Rhaella deals with every day. “Ned, how could he do that to her?” She continued hotly. “What kind of man-“

“A sick man, Lyanna. Our king.”

She paused, and looked over to Rhaegar.

He rose, and raised his glass.

“To Elia. And my child.” The room erupted into cheers and applause, the awkwardness slowly dissipating. 

Lyanna tried to smile, but it hurt too much. What promised to be a lovely night now left her with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. While Elia had a baby growing within her, Lyanna only had love growing. The love grew with every meeting, every sighting of Rhaegar. With every touch, every look. She suddenly became very aware of how much she loved him at that moment. She knew, because it hurt so bloody much. 

The dancing ensued, Rhaegar taking Elia’s hand, and leading everyone, and Ned asked her to dance too. Rhaegar caught Lyanna’s eye every so often, and she looked away, embarassed. 

“Ned,” Robert Baratheon slapped Ned on the back. “It would be a crime not to dance with your vision of a sister.” He smiled at Lyanna, then his eyes trailed down…

Ned smiled too, and left them. “Lyanna Stark. You’re truly beautiful tonight. I feel like I’m the luckiest man in the whole word.” He murmured in her ear as they danced. They were just words. Robert had an infatuation with Lyanna, it was not her love he wanted, nor her title, it was her body, her face. She could feel his breath on her neck, and she suddenly felt very exposed. There was a hungriness about him, as he caressed her waist. She dismissed his so-called love. 

“You give me too many compliments Robert.” She smiled politely.

“May I come to your chambers tonight?” He whispered breathy into her ear.

It took all of Lyanna’s will power not to slap him viciously across his hungry face. Yes, she was his betrothed, but the mere expectation of it made her face flush with rage.

“I’m not one of your whores.” She whispered back in a menacing tone. She tasted the alcohol in the air surrounding him. He abruptly let go of her. Dismissive.

“What happened?” Ned asked as she sat back down. He seemed worried, as always.

“Nothing, dear brother.” She brought his hand to her lips. 

“Lady Lyanna,” A deep voice said. Rhaegar’s voice. “May I have this dance?” He said politely. It was odd to see him like this. Their familiarity had to be hidden in the presence of Ned, his face was void of the usual affection he held for her.

“Of course.” 

Rhaegar was a graceful dancer. Compared to Robert’s rough grip on her waist, Rhaegar held her softly and guided her gracefully. It was cruel thing, Lyanna decided, that Rhaegar was holding her so tenderly when minutes earlier he announced his wife’s pregnancy. She wished she could care about him without any exceptions. She didn’t know what she expected, nor what she could hope for.

Hope for nothing, she thought.

She tried the most genuine smile she could muster, “Congratulations, Rhaegar.” His face faltered, and his hold not lost it’s tenderness.

“I… I have no excuses. Lyanna, I need to talk to you. In private. All I can say is that I still have a duty. But..”

She loved watching him grope for words, not like a prince but like a young man. 

“Rhaegar, I expect nothing.” She was surprised the words managed to come out, it hurt so much. She wanted all of him, now and forever. 

He opened his mouth, closed it again. Like a fish gasping for breath. Finding his words. 

“I can’t say everything here. Things need to be said. Can I visit you tonight?” There was an innocence in his eyes, not like Robert’s hungriness. 

Lyanna nodded as the music swelled and came to a stop. With all the light that filled her whenever Rhaegar was near, she couldn’t help but feel an impending and morbid atmosphere.


	8. The Promise

The light was dimmed in the room, it was late. She enjoyed the festivities that ensued that night, though Lyanna was not the greatest at dancing, the wine and the loud swelling music made her giddy, and she had many partners that evening. There was a thirst for life in the ballroom that night, lords and ladies became savages dancing, in the midst of wine and music. There was much laughter, whereas somewhere else in the castle was Rhaella’s screams. Her hair came loose throughout the night. It was ravenous, a mass of people enjoying life’s finest offers. Still dressed, she seemed somewhat more undone than when she arrived. Nerves untangled in her belly.

And yet, as she sat in her chambers, the nerves began tying themselves up again. She wondered what he could possibly have to say. Rhaegar stood outside the door, collecting himself, summoning courage.

As courageous as Lyanna, he thought. They had come to be at ease when around each other, but tonight was different, the unspoken tension of Elia’s pregnancy. He remembered how he pushed Elia away that night, saying the risk of another child is too much, and how she cried. It was not out of pity, Elia deserved more than that. He didn’t quite know why he did it, but how she cried. He shared Elia’s feeling of uselessness. He was wracked with guilt as he lay next to Elia, thinking only of Lyanna. It was maddening, filled with love for her but at the same guilt.

Lyanna ungainly stood when the he knocked on the door.

He stood before her, unsure of wether to touch her, he didn’t want to insult her. Their eyes burned into each other. She strode toward him, took his larger hands in hers. He squeezed her fingers, shut his eyes as he pulled her toward him, her head resting on his chest. They stayed like that, for gods know how long.

He needed to look into her eyes, he pulled away, and saw her grey eyes staring at him.

“Lyanna,” His voice came out in a whisper. “You’re my saviour. It’s like I’ve never truly lived before I met you.” His voice was husky, and Lyanna’s previously thumping heart now stilled, hanging on to his every word. Her breath was stationary in her lungs.

“I know that I’ll never deserve you, but I love you. I love you, Lyanna. I never thought I could love anyone, but I love you. Know that I’ll never stop loving you for as long as I live.” His brow was furrowed, but his face displayed such a pure and unadulterated love. 

“I love you, Rhaegar.” The words were whispered, as tears spilled down her cheeks. It brought Rhaegar back to when she weeped at his song. 

He didn’t even comprehend the fact that she might love him back. 

Lyanna and Rhaegar’s love was unconditional, and the definition of insanity. A love so immense that every other aspect of their lives was irrelevant. Some would call it selfish, but that didn’t matter. It was madness, and a madness took over them.

“Marry me, Lyanna Stark.” Rhaegar said against her lips, but not touching.

She smiled and laughed, the tears still streaming. “Yes.” She pulled him by his neck to her bed in a hard and passionate kiss. I need you, forever, she thought. Her fears and worries had all dissipated whenever she saw his kind face.

Heavy breaths, they stopped for a moment, their foreheads pressed against each other.

“Do you want this? Do you want me?” Rhaegar said breathy. 

“I want all of you, now and forever.”


	9. The Goodbye

Lyanna looked out on the odd gardens of Harrenhal, with Ned by her side.

“What’s wrong, Lya?” He said, shaking her out of her daze.

Grief was tightening around her throat. She took Ned’s hands in her own. “You’re my favourite brother, you know?” She grinned.

“And you, my favourite. You can’t get out of it though, go on, tell me.” 

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just sad the tournament’s over.” She lied.

He looked confused. “I would’ve thought you were happy to return to Winterfell?”

Winterfell. Her heart lurched, wandering when she’d ever seen her home again. The towering stone castles, away from the noise. Away from everything. A sheltered heaven. Someplace she could go wherever she pleased. The memories of archery and horse riding. The godswood. Winterfell’s godswood was the oldest to date. She could feel the Gods there. Old nan would be waiting there. Her old life would resume.

But there was no Rhaegar at Winterfell. One day she would return. When the time comes. 

When she didn’t reply, Ned went on. “I’m pleased to be getting back. You can almost feel the war brewing here.”

“War?” Lyanna asked, confused.

“It’s not going to happen. Aerys is a cruel king, but there have been worse Targaryens. And the line continues, although barely.”

“Your fascination with politics is ridiculous.” Lyanna grinned.

“It’s not a fascination, it’s merely just noticing the world around us. Are you going to miss Robert?”

“Oh yes, Ned, with all my heart, I don’t know how I’d be able to be apart from him for so long!” She mocked. 

“He’s not that bad.” He smiled. Ned doted on Robert, after all, they had grown up together. They were practically brothers.

“He thinks I’m a delicate Lady who hates the outdoors and only likes pretty dresses.”

When Robert sees me, he sees a pretty little girl. Someone to fulfil his wifely duties. Not a partner, but something to own.

Ned was running out of ways to defend Robert. “He’s my best friend Lyanna, I can’t promise that you’ll come to love him, but I can promise you he’ll respect and treasure you during your marriage. If I had it my way I’d let you make your own decision.”

I am making my own decision, she thought. 

“Ned. I feel trapped.” His face registered shock at the change of tone in Lyanna’s voice, and he knew something was wrong.

“Lya-“

“Enough of that.” She chuckled. “I’m very excited to go back to Winterfell.”

Their eyes locked. 

“I love you very much, Ned.”

And it was at that moment Ned knew that something was very, very wrong.

 

“Rhaegar-“ Jamie Lannister, a member of the kings guard called out to the Targaryen prince.

“Yes, ser?” The young knight astounded him. Knighted at age fifteen, Jaime was the ‘golden lion.’ He was always ready for a laugh, and seemed to smile all the time.

“Elia wishes to see you before you depart.” Jaime said politely.

Rhaegar wished he had the courage to face Elia before he ran away with Lyanna. He wished he wasn't a coward, that he could look her in the face and tell her that they would see each other again. He wished he could tell her he would be getting an annulment. But Rhaegar’s courage failed him that day.

“Tell her I’ll come and see her soon,” He said ambiguously.

Her face came unwanted into his mind, along with his child’s face. His mothers. Viserys. The wavering promise of seeing them again was the only way he could do it.


	10. The Tower Of Joy

The long tower sprouted from the ground. It was bathed in golden light, tall and slender, she would be here for awhile. ‘Awhile’ was the ambiguous but mutual agreement between Rhaegar and Lyanna, neither knew how long ‘awhile’ was. The tower was on a raised hill, but as she looked over the hill, she saw a beautiful forest with a small river running through the centre. Unlike the barren Harrenhal, or the cold Winterfell, the forest was decorated with plants and tree’s she’d never seen before. Pink blossoms grew on every tree. 

Two guards accompanied them, Rhaegar’s closest friends. Friends who would never tell. Friends who could keep them safe. The somewhat casual wedding would be tomorrow, given time for them to settle in. None of the flourishes or extravagantness of a court wedding.

‘It’s just going to be us being binded together forever.’

“How on earth are we going to pass the time?” Lyanna said micheviously.

Rhaegar smiled, “Well. I was hoping we could go riding.” He wrapped his long arms around her from behind. “We could play chess in the evening. I could write music. We can practise fencing. Another other things.” He whispered the last idea softly in her ear. 

She blushed ever so slightly. “I’ll try not to wear you out. Fencing, I mean.”

“I’m sure I can handle it.”

“Are you going to give me a tour? Seven hells, prince, where are your manners?” she giggled. 

He grabbed her hand, and pulled her through the great oaken door. Inside there was a small stone kitchen, a wooden table, it seemed rather bleak, as there were no windows. The epitome of privacy, Lyanna thought. She’d never experience this amount of privacy in her life. Along living in a large castle with servants, she had her brothers whom refused her the luxury of privacy. She never seemed alone. This place was a heaven. Save for the two guards, whom she would barely see, it was just her and Rhaegar. The worries and stresses outside the door, away from the tower. She didn’t care how small the tower was, she could have no home and sleep under the stars and it would still be perfect. 

Rhaegar gently pulled her hand up the stars, which seemed to go on for a long time, spiralling into the sky. They came to a circular room, with a balcony and several windows. The golden light she’d seen outside flooded in. There was a dressing table, a closet, and a very large bed. Silk drapes of the colours of the rainbow hung around the bed, and a few wrinkled leaves were scattered near the balcony. The walls and floors were stone, but they took on warmer colours than what she was used to. 

Rhaegar watched her face as she took in the scene. It was pure joy. This was their safe haven, where all they needed was each other.

Lyanna caught his gaze. “Rhaegar, it’s perfect.”

“Are we sure it’s fit for Lady Stark of Winterfell?”

She gave him a light shove. But she was too happy to protest at his mockery. She leapt onto the bed, practically flopping onto her front, letting out a cry of glee. He followed and sat on the bed with her. 

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

“For god’s sake Rhaegar, how many times are you going to ask?” She gave him a light kiss on the cheek. “One day I’ll see Winterfell and my brothers again, it hurts not to see them, but for now, I have ascended into the heavens with you.”

“I’m worried it’s not enough for you.” Rhaegar felt like he had asked Lyanna to sacrifice many a thing, her family, her home, her reputation. He had not tricked her, he told her everything and more that could happen, what would happen, and Lyanna insisted with stubbornness that it was all worth it, that these sacrifices were nothing if it meant she could be with him. Rhaegar felt the God’s had been kind to him, that these ‘sacrifices’ meant nothing if it meant he could be with Lyanna. To him, they were nothing. Lyanna held the most value to him in is life, he would happily give up anything for her. 

“Your love is the only thing I need in this life, Rhaegar. Anything else is a luxury I have no need for.” She pulled his face towards hers, and kissed him. She felt drunk, drunk on perfection of the situation.

“The tower needs a name,” He mused. “I think it must be the Tower Of Joy.”


	11. The Fury Of A Noble Man

Ned was normally a mild-mannered, honourable young man. And yet here he sat, his nails digging into his palms, and he knew, when disturbed by a word or touch, he would erupt. It was only a matter of time. The rage of an honourable man is a terrifying thing. The news had came this morning, and Ned had sat quietly down, afraid to move. It had been hours, and he had not been disturbed. He willed someone, anyone, to come through that door, so they could pull him out of this ridiculous limbo.

He saw Lyanna in his mind, his beautiful, wilful sister. His kidnapped sister. She hadn’t been gone for long, but her voice already haunted him.

‘I love you, Ned.’ 

The door creaked open, and his brother, Brandon’s voice greeted him. 

“Brother-“

Ned slammed his fists down so hard on the wooden table red bruises almost immediately sprouted on his palms. 

“HE TOOK HER.” He screamed in a voice that did not sound like his voice. “THAT ANIMAL, THAT DISGUSTING ANIMAL TOOK OUR SISTER.” He began striding over to Brandon. 

Although Brandon knew his brother incredible well, this change in personality did not surprise him. Ned and Lyanna always had an unspoken bond. 

Brandon’s face angered Ned, as did the door, the window, the sun. How dare he not be raging as he is, Ned thought. How dare he keep a face of complacency? How dare he dismiss their sister’s kidnapping so quickly, he thought? He was confused. Brandon was had a hotter temper than him, why wasn’t he raging?

Ned took Brandon by the collar, despite him standing a head taller than him. “REACT, YOU BASTARD. SHE’S GONE, REACT, REACT, REACT. HOW FUCKING DARE YOU DISMISS OUR SISTER, HOW FUCKING DARE YOU.” He screeched, his voice straining with the repeated words. Spittle flew from his mouth onto Brandon’s cheek. He shook him with a madness. 

Brandon took Ned’s hands with a force that could’ve crushed them, and he whispered with a careful, contemplated menace. 

“He is going to die, Ned. Rhaegar is going is going to die, if I can help it he will suffer until the end of his miserable fucking life, and his soul will rot and wither in hell. Lyanna will be repaid, just you wait.” 

Brandon said these calculated words in a way that Ned knew that is exactly what will happen to Rhaegar. Rhaegar will die.

“King Aerys is over. The Targaryen line is over. Their reign is over. It is only a matter of time. Brother, soon they will be overthrown. A rebellion is brewing.

If Ned was capable, he would’ve been scared. The Targaryen line was an ancient one, thousands of years of incest have finally produced an insane king, that murdered without apology or reason. The dragons made them great, and the dragons are long dead. 

“Is there actually a rebellion brewing?” Ned whispered, aware that they would be dead if anyone heard them. He could feel hot tears in his eyes, tears brewed by pure, unadulterated anger. 

“There are thousands of whispers of a rebellion. It’s happening Ned, it’s really happening, and you and I will be at the front of this rebellion. I promise you. The tyranny that are the Targaryen’s will suffer. Aerys the mad has invited me and father to kings landing.”

There is a fuse leading to the great iron throne. It’s creeping along, a small ember, slowly but steadily moving towards the thrones destruction. The fuse was lit by Lyanna’s kidnapping. The fuse is creeping along, patiently, malevolently.

Westeros had never known a chaos like the one to come.


	12. Us, Together Forever

Rhaegar’s breath stilled in his lungs when he saw Lyanna in her pure white dress, with flowers scattered in her hair. He thought he would be nervous, with knots tied in his belly, like when he was nervous for his previous wedding. The annulment had already been done, he needed to be wedded to Lyanna for real, with no scandal. But he was not nervous. This felt right, and he knew this was the happiest day of his life. He was marrying the love of his life. Lyanna Stark, his angel. Her jet-black hair was loose, blue winter roses in her hair brought him back to when he crowned her Queen Of Love and beauty. He remembered how she stared back at him defiantly, with no love in her eyes. There was so much love in her eyes now it seemed to spill from her tear ducts. The pure white dress was a simple silk, exposing her pale collarbones, trailing slightly on the grassy floor beneath her. Her lips were parted, her eyes staring into his, they were both in a state of ecstasy. Rhaegar wore his usual clothes, but for this casual wedding, he had tied his white-blonde hair back behind his neck. 

The sun was setting, an orange and pink display of light. Everything around them glowed as if each individual tree and flower exuded their own light. They repeated the traditional vows, so absorbed in each other, they hands tightly clasped around each other, being binded with the traditional wedding silk.

Rhaegar almost seemed to whisper, “You are my rapturous delight. A constant, grating thought on my mind, that I refuse to ignore. You’ve brought me joy when there was none. You’ve brought me light when there was only darkness. You’ve given me love where there once was only hate.” Rhaegar recited his vow.

“You are a thunderstorm, Rhaegar Targaryen, that I’d joyfully let sweep me off my feet. I never imagined myself loving, and yet, I love you. With all my heart, with all my soul, I promise to love you until the end of time.”

Rhaegar confirmed his fate many months ago. When he placed those roses on Lyanna’s lap at the tourney, it was at that point he knew there was no turning back, no running away. They were now not only minded by love, but now also by law. In the eyes of the God’s, they were husband and wife, not misled lovers. Maybe still misled. 

They kissed for the first time as husband and wife. Not their first, and not their last. The world around them disappeared as it always did when they kissed. The sun was setting, and by the time they returned to the tower, night had fallen, but their world was lit up by the moon. 

“I love you,” he continually murmured, in-between kisses, back at the tower.

As she lay on her back, her hair spread around her head like an aura. Her delicate yet fierce features stared up at him, and his throat constricted, his heart lurched. She was the epitome of perfection, an angel, the moonlight bathing her pale features in a silver light.

Lyanna was just as startled when she stared up at him, his face hovering above hers. She loved him, she loved his silver hair, cut at his shoulders, tumbling over his face. His violet eyes seemed to burn holes through her.

They were lost in ecstasy.


	13. Pigs Carted to Slaughter

Ned stood silently among his father and brother. He could not bring himself to say words, only one word throbbed in his mind. Lyanna, Lyanna, Lyanna. In this grand throne room, with tapestries of dragons and great battles and great histories decorating the towering walls, Ned knew, it was over. That bloody throne the mad king sat on was tainted, it no longer meant anything to him. This royal bloodline was no more than an incestuous and entitled family, no longer entitled to anything. They had their crowns, sitting delicately on their heads, but they were no longer royalty. They were madmen, playing at kings and queens.

“Where is Rhaegar?” His fathers voice ringed throughout the hall. It was laced with anger, but generally exuded the carefulness that was expected of him. 

Here they stood. Brandon and Ned, with their father, and Robert Baratheon, whom looked as if he was choking on his tongue, holding back angry words. 

Aerys sat on the throne, with that ever so slightly glazed look he always wore in his eyes. His finger tapped incessantly on the moulded metal swords. He seemed almost bored, his eyes trailing to the corners of the room, like a child avoiding a scolding. His mouth hung ever so slightly open. 

His wife, Rhaella, on the other hand, was alert, and clearly aware of the situation. 

Where was Rhaegar? The question hung in the room. Likeable, noble Rhaegar, where was he, and why is he with Lyanna Stark? The evidence was clear. It all pointed to the brutal kidnapping of Lyanna, though nobody quite understood why. 

“I don’t know.” Aerys said with a maddening simplicity. 

Lord Stark’s complacency was beginning to dissolve. 

“She is my daughter, Aerys. I am beginning to lose patience, you mock our house, you mock me, and your son has MY DAUGHTER. You disgust me.” He was becoming red-faced.

Nobody was sure wether it was mockery when Aerys paused, with his finger on his chin, pondering what Lord Stark had said.

“AERYS-“

He merely put up a hand to hush Lord Stark’s words. A pathetic display, a mockery. Rhaella averted her eyes. 

“It is none of my concern, Stark. I’m sure Rhaegar will grow out of this conquest soon, and your daughter shall be returned to you. You and your affairs… Your Winterfell children… They are not a kings problem, not a dragons problem.” Aerys eyes lit up with the last statement.

“You BASTARD.” Brandon finally spoke up. “You FUCKING BASTARD. YOU INCESTUOUS BASTARD.” It seemed the display of Aerys mockery was too much for Brandon, as the treasonous words spilled from his mouth. “I-“

Once again, Brandon was silenced by Aerys’ hand, except now the hand was shaking, and Aerys had an alertness in his eyes, an obsession.

“YOU DISRESPECT THE DRAGON?” His gravely voice called across the room, and his frail body stood, throbbing with anticipation. “YOU DISRESPECT YOUR KING?” His eyes were no longer focused on the offending party, but seemed to dart around the room, up to the ceilings, as if he were calling out to the heavens.

“YOU DISRESPECT-“

“Burn them.” Aerys whispered to seemingly no one. His lips quivered with the sentence. 

The hall waited, stationary, unsure, scared. 

“BURN THEM.” He called again, louder, more of an aroused scream. “BURN THEM, BURN THEM, BURN THEM,” he screeched almost gleefully.

Rhaella gasped as tears spilled from her pretty violet eyes, clamping her hand over her mouth to dampen the sound. Her muffled cries were the only sound in the hall. Ned was incredulous, wandering if he had slipped into an alternate world, where insane men ruled over the sane, wandering if his words would be taken seriously. 

The world hanged in balance, collectively deciding if this madman was still their king, and wether they should obey him. It was a testament, perhaps the last push of the rebellion. It was the stillness before the storm, slow realisation dawning over the people.

“BURN THEM!” His final command pulled the world out of the stationary, as four members of the kings guard decided to obey their king. They started toward Lord Stark and Brandon.

Chaos ensued. Ned found himself fighting against a crowd, calling in the midst of shouts, calling for his father and brother. 

As the turmoil erupted, all dignity and sanity left Lord Stark and Brandon as they were being hauled to a raised platform. They suddenly became squealing pigs, being carted off to slaughter. Nonsensical words coming from their mouths, pleading, begging. Animals about to be roasted.

The piercing, howling cries when the orange flames sprouted from the oil that drenched them, the tuneless shrill of the crowd. 

Silence as the stink of burning flesh filled the room.


	14. The Wild North

“What is it about you northerners.” Rhaegar mumbled as he wrapped Lyanna’s scraped knee. Bulbous drips of blood soaked her leg. “Never admit you’re in pain, never admit you’re scared. Never admit you’re cold. Stubborn lot you are.”

“It just a bloody scrape, Rhaegar.” She looked bored as the blood gushed from the wound. “I could hardly feel it until you touched it. That’s the way with knees though, isn’t it.” 

“Still, you could’ve at least said something.” He had a worried look on his face.

“Well, then I wouldn’t be a true northerner, would I?” She grinned as he finished.

“I’ve always wanted to go up north.” Rhaegar mused. “Tell me about it?”

Lyanna smiled a soft smile, the innocence of Rhaegar’s question brought warmth to her stomach. So did the thought of Winterfell. 

“It a different beauty than what you’ve ever seen. Not the polished beauty. Not like perfectly assembled jewels, but rugged beauty. It’s just green for miles and miles and miles, the hills curving, undisturbed by civilisation. It’s freedom, out there. The heavens blessed the north, I think, despite the harsh winters and cold nights, I think that makes it even more beautiful. You have to withstand the hardships to get to the beauty.” Her eyes drifted as she pictured the wildness of the north.

“And Winterfell?”

“An old, old castle, with so much history within it.” She thought of the dark tombs beneath winterfell, where all her ancestors were buried. It was so cold and dark down there, with the statues seemingly watching you. It stank of death, and she shivered with the thought that one day she would end up down there. “Within it are the northerners, stubborn and rough as some people say,” she continued.

“Well, if that’s the case, you are definitely from the north.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You talk about it with so much love.”

“It’s my home, it is where I’m from.” She said, melancholy. “Everywhere else it seems all the ladies have sticks up their arses. Some of the men too.” 

Rhaegar laughed. “Me included?”

“Especially you! but not anymore. Tell me about your childhood then, Prince.”

“Well.. I was born at Sumerhall. I didn’t have any siblings my age, I mean, now I have Viserys, but he’s still just a child. Mother is with child again… It worries me. She’s had many miscarriages.” Lyanna’s face exuded sympathy, but she wanted to know more. She knew all about Rhaegar’s current life, but needed to know about his past. “I can only hope this one is okay. And that mother’s okay.” He winced at the thought of leaving his mother alone with Aerys. “She’s a wonderful woman, my mother. She doesn’t deserve…” 

Lyanna took Rhaegar’s hands in hers, and kissed them.

“None of you deserve it.” She said simply. She’d met Rhaella a few times. The Queen took an interest in Lyanna, complimenting her beauty and inviting her for tea. It gave Lyanna hope, the queen had been tormented, and it only made her kind. She could see that Rhaegar was her son, he shared his mother’s kindness.

Both dressed in riding leathers, Lyanna was somewhat dishevelled with a messy braid down her back and some dirt across her face. Rhaegars hair was greasy with sweat, his cheeks flushed, also sprinkled with dirt. 

“It disgusts me, Lyanna.” His brow became knotted, his violet eyes shadowed. “I’m going to be king one day. It’s a job for cruel, power-hungry men. I can’t be like him.”

Lyanna’s heart constricted unpleasantly, upon the realisation of her being a queen. Rhaegar’s queen. She couldn’t believe their scandal would result in her being a bloody queen. Queen’s sat around and sewed things, they produced princes and princesses and they always had to be polite, and their opinion didn’t matter. She pictured Rhaegar sitting on the iron throne, with a big old crown on his head, dressing in kings clothes. A stern and dead look on his face. She saw herself standing beside him, with a pretty tiara, but her face was blank, her hands neatly and politely folded in front of her. Regency was the opposite of freedom.

She saw tears brewing in his eyes, despite him knuckling at his eyes to stop them. And Lyanna didn’t know what to do. Tell him it’s all going to be okay? That he will be a good king? But she knew that’s not what he feared. He didn’t want to be a king at all. 

“Rhaegar, you aren’t him. You are kind and loyal, you could never hurt anyone-“ She thought back to the fight with Robert, as Rhaegar seemed to lose himself in relentlessly hitting him. “You will always have me, no matter what. And I will always have you.”

Rhaegar said nothing, looking stonily ahead. He felt he was already slipping into madness. The night terrors, they seemed to promise him a foul and disturbing fate. It was madness running away with Lyanna, but they would be returning soon. To kings landing, and maybe then, they could go to Winterfell together.

“You could show me around.” He said, breaking the tension.

“Show you around what?”

“Winterfell.” He was still quiet and upset, but trying to lighten the mood.

“I’ll show you everything!” She said excitedly. “I’ll show you the woods, the grounds, the fields. You’ll love it Rhaegar. I know you will.”

The thought of Lyanna taking him by the hand and showing him Winterfell brought a smile to his lips. 

“We’ll be the least boring King and Queen there ever was.” She grinned and kissed him.

“Gods know you’ll keep all the lords and ladies on their toes.” He said in between kisses. “Get on your horse, Stark.” He hauled Lyanna to her feet. “If your knee doesn’t hurt too much,” he mocked.

Lyanna took her horses reigns and hauled herself atop of the horse smoothly, and awaited for Rhaegar to mount his with a smug look on her face. They raced back to the tower on their horses, the world bathed in orange again with the sun setting.

Once they got back to the tower, the giddiness had gotten to Lyanna and she was laughing in between gasps as they both rushed up the stairs. 

She caught his bright violet eyes in the darkness, his strong face and high cheekbones. 

“Are you ever going to read to me what you’re writing all the time?” She later asked innocently, sprawled out on the bed in her nightdress, her black hair messy and cascading down her shoulders.

Rhaegar sat on his chair, feeling extremely at peace, with notebook in hand and wife on bed. “Would you like me to read some to you?”

Her face practically lit up. 

He smiled to himself, licked his thumb and sifted through his pages of writing. He may present himself as a warrior, but Rhaegar knew he was a writer and musician at heart. It was one of his greatest joys. He paused at one of his favourites.

“One about insanity?”

“Quite a cheerful one, you are. Go ahead.”

His writing was very personal to him, he took a breath and started. “Love me back from cold hands of death. Love me back from the hot clutch of insanity. It entangles me, a web of voices and nightmares, they’re calling my name like sirens. Enchanting voices that urge me to let go, to fall into their web, that resisting is a losing battle. The real insanity is that falling into their web would be easy, so easy it often seems a luxury. You bring me back from the sirens, you coax me away from the void.”


	15. The News

They were awoken by a loud rapping on the door. Both naked, Rhaegar hopped out of bed and pull on underclothes hastily, whilst Lyanna was still in the partial haze of sleep, rubbing her eyes.

“Rhaegar, it’s urgent.” Arthur’s gravelly voice called from the other side of the door. 

“Come in!” Lyanna called, Rhaegar spun round questioningly, surprised Lyanna would let him in whilst she was still naked under the sheets, him still without a shirt.

Arthur entered. Sword of the morning he was called, and Rhaegar’s best friend. He had clean cut brown hair, but his stubble was beginning to look scraggly. He had a handsome face but seemed older and more weathered than Rhaegar. She liked him, whenever he was around she felt like she was among friends rather than a guard. And so she stood, and began to dress herself.

“I have some news.” Rhaegar noticed he had an unusually grave look about his face. 

“What is it?” Rhaegar placed a hand on his shoulder.

Arthur looked up, unnerved, unravelled. “It happened, Rhaegar. It fucking happened. The rebellion’s started.”

Rhaegar felt he had just taken a hit to the chest, he couldn’t feel his extremities. The perfect world he had deluded himself into living had finally melted away, he needed to return. It had always been a possibility, but he had somehow kidded himself into thinking it could never happen.

“I need to go,” He croaked. He needed to go back to the chaos of King’s landing.

“There’s more.” Arthur uneasily glanced over at the very still Lyanna. “Lyanna, please, I’m sorry.” His attention shifted to her and Rhaegar felt uneasy.

“Arthur, what happened?” She seemed to whisper it, aware that something was very, very wrong. She stilled completely, watching his mouth, urging him to say the bloody news.

“Your brother and father… Brandon and Lord Stark. They were both executed, found guilty of treason by Aerys.” For such a gruff man, Arthur gave the news with sensitivity.

In a response to grief, some may go into mourning, some may have their world stop. Some may cry. Not Lyanna. She did not react initially, a blank look playing on her face, waiting for the words to register within her brain.

Rage. Pure, unadulterated rage. She could’ve sworn that there were burning embers in her stomach, and, after all, anger makes savages of us all. She took the collar of the massive Arthur, her nails digging into his chest. A northerner, indeed.

“How?” She whispered in a terrifying menace.

Arthur tried to gently pull back her wrists, kindness on his face. She could hardly feel Rhaegar’s hands on her waist, trying to comfort her, pull her away.

“They were burned, Lyanna.” 

She could see them, their faces being engulfed in flames, the terror. 

The king ordered it. Guards pinned them to the poles. Citizens stood by and watched, and did nothing. 

Tears brimmed in her eyes, except they seemed to blind her, they felt heavy and uncomfortable in her eyes, bursting, heaving.

Rhaegar’s throat constricted, he could hardly breathe. A breath seemed to drag into his lungs unwilling, he could see the pain in Lyanna, and pain for her meant pain for him too. 

“NO, NO, I DON’T-“ She didn’t sound like Lyanna as she clawed at arthur, and she could suddenly feel Rhaegar’s arms at her waist, pulling her away, pulling her away like a deranged animal. 

“LYANNA, LYANNA,-“ He looked into her eyes, and she saw straight past him. They were unfocused, frantic, but most of all ferocious. Her jaw was perpetually clenched, her teeth beared, tears fell from her eyes, but her face was knotted, her body shaking.

“THEY’RE DEAD, THEY’RE DEAD, THEY’RE DEAD,” She needed to repeat, they needed to understand. They did not understand, she thought. Her own blood is dead. She grabbed Rhaegar’s forearms, looked into his equally ferocious eyes. “I’VE FAILED THEM, I LEFT THEM, RHAEGAR, I LEFT THEM, I LEFT THEM, THEY’RE GONE. I’M NEVER GOING TO SEE THEM AGAIN, YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND, YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND.”

Rhaegar felt her anger coursing through her body, and he could feel it in himself too. He tried to contain her, tried to press her head onto his chest, console her, but he knew it would be pointless.

She wrenched from his grip, shoved him aside, and fled the room, sprinting. 

It was a bitterly cold morning, but she wore little clothes. She mounted her horse and spurred her in a random direction. 

Rhaegar became guilt, the tower of joy became guilt, She was awash with so many raging emotions, she could barely pin down on one. Guilt. Rage. Pathos. Love. The cold air became a balm, whipping past her ears. She started sobbing, and she slowed on her horse, sobs mixed with grunts of anger. 

“I have been selfish,” she screamed into the dirt. Suddenly, her fists were against the rough bark of the tree, splitting her knuckles, but she could feel nothing. She relentlessly hit the bark, screaming as the blood ran down her forearms. This went on for hours, the crying, the hitting, until her hands throbbed with a numb pain, crusted with blood, the stench of iron and dirt in her nostrils.

It scared her when she realised it was dark, when it only seemed like it was morning a short while ago. She grasped the earth, willing herself to find things that matter to her.

“Rhaegar.” She whispered. “Ned. Winterfell.” She paused, closing her eyes.

Through the weeks and weeks at the tower of joy, she hadn’t noticed. She didn’t realise. Lyanna laid a limp, burgundy hand on the hard swell of her stomach.


	16. Perhaps the Last Goodbye

The rebellion. Rhaegar had played it many times over in his head. He thought about the carnage that the Seven Kingdoms had now fallen into. The fight that’s ensuing to retain the throne. The blood, the bodies.

He’d hurt Lyanna. Though not directly, he felt responsible, because, after all, who is responsible for a mad man? He’d betrayed her in the rawest form. He will not let her come. She will stay here, though she might refuse, he thought. 

He had thought the worst. He went after her, when she left, searching the woods for hours. He feared the worst, he thought he’d lost her. It was dark when he found her in the tower. She had blood on her arms. Not a word was spoken between them for hours, not even as she silently cried when he cleaned her wounds, not even when she rested her head on his lap, and he gently stroked her hair.

Rhagear wrapped his arms around her in bed that night, his brow furrowed, and he too cried silent tears into her hair. He thought he’d lost her. He knew he would be leaving her soon. 

“Lyanna, forgive me,” His deep voice whispered, shuddering, but Lyanna was asleep. He didn’t sleep that night, he wanted to cling to her forever, awake, feeling her skin against his. He also didn’t want to dream. Rhaegar knew his dreams would be reduced to the forboding terrors if he let himself slip into sleep.

No time seemed to pass, and yet, pale light quietly flooded the room, slowly brightening Lyanna’s features. He willed the sun to stay below the horizon, and yet, morning came anyway.

She awoke, met with his face, and they stayed there for awhile.

“I need to go, Lyanna.” He knew exactly how this conversation was going to go.

“I’m coming with you.” She said adamantly, without doubt.

“You are not.”

“Yes I am.” Rhaegar could’ve smiled at her stubborness. But he didn’t.

“You are not coming with me into a war.” He stumbled out of bed, and started dressing himself. He felt as if he couldn’t refuse her, but he would have to.

“I will go mad,” She said quietly, with her knees to her chest. 

Rhaegar seemed surprised, he thought Lyanna would be raging, shouting at him, telling him he had no right to tell her what she could and could not do. But she knew, she knew the severity, and after all, she was pregnant.

“After all this passes-“ Rhaegar groped for words, except he realised he was groping for lies. “- When it’s all over,” he held her hands, “We will be together. You’ll be with Ned. We can go to Winterfell! Like we talked about. It will be all over.”

“I’m with child.”

He couldn’t control himself, he jumped into bed with Lyanna and took her in his arms, and he cried. With joy? Yes. With longing? Please, Gods. Please. Let me see my child one day. He could feel Lyanna shuddering with tears too, and he begged the Gods silently. He bargained with them.

“You’re coming back to me,” Lyanna’s voice quivered and cracked. “I don’t care if they call you a coward, you are coming back to me. I wont accept it, I wont-“ If you’re dead, The silent words rung in the air.

“I’ll come back to you. And our child. I’ll bring Ned back too, and we’ll have a big party-“ They laughed together stupidly through the tears, such a brilliantly light future seemed so far away now. 

“If you keep me waiting, so help me-“ They needed to joke, grief seemed too painful. 

He pressed a kiss into her lips. He held her so hard, and he wondered if he could ever bring himself to let go.

And yet, as he rode away from the tower of Joy these promises seemed weak, and the bargains with the Gods pointless.


	17. The Dragon Welcomed Back At Court

It was a long journey back to Kings Landing, and lonely. He felt like a coward, scampering back to his home, back to the guilt. Fleeing away from Lyanna. They knew he was coming, he had sent a letter, but he did not know how he would be recieved.

She was there, waiting for him. His heavily pregnant mother. 

“My son.” She enveloped her tall son in her frail arms, squeezing as hard a pregnant woman could. “I’ve missed you,” She was a woman of simple and dutiful words. Queen Rhaella was beautiful, high cheekbones, shapely lips and the big violet eyes of the Targaryens. The years of incest did not show on her face. 

“Mother.” The bond of mother and son was strong in Rhaegar and Rhaella. Only simple words were said, yet everything understood. “What’s been happening?”

“Your father… He’s the worse he’s ever been. All his words are non-sensical now. There have been battles… Oh gods, Rhaegar, I can believe that the worse is yet to come, this is only the beginning. I don't understand it.”

Rhaegar had no words to comfort Rhaella. She knew what war was. She knew it was going to be hard and bloody. He wouldn’t insult her by telling her otherwise.

“The people love you, Rhaegar. I believe the only reason we have allies is because of you. The hope of a kind and strong King soon in the future.” She held his hands.

Throughout the torment of Rhaella’s life, Rhaegar had never seen his mother shed a tear. She had Targaryen values. Strength is power, never show weakness. Fire and blood. History will remember Rhaella as a submissive and dutiful wife, that there were more powerful and fierce Targaryen queens, but Rhaegar knew that she truly was a dragon, a strong woman, whom lived for her family. 

“Our family will survive this.” He pressed his forehead against his mother’s, a gesture that brought Rhaegar back to his childhood. “What do you think?” He said, gesturing to her stomach. “Girl or boy?”

“I’m hoping for a girl.” She said quietly. “I’ve always wanted to raise a girl. Maybe if I pray. I already know that I’ll call her Daenerys.”

“Beautiful-“ They were interrupted by a young Viserys screeching Rhaegars name, sprinting down the great hall.

“VISERYS!” Rhaegar beamed as he picked his brother up into a hug, then placed him down. “God’s, what’ve you been eating, little brother?” He said, grunting with his brothers weight.

Viserys adored and idolised his older brother. “Where’ve you been?!” Viserys demanded.

They spent the afternoon together, when Rhaella placed a hand on Rhaegars arm.

“You need to see her.”

He stood outside Elia’s door, awaiting to meet his second child. The reason she had not met him at the great hall was that her recent childbirth had left her weakened and bed bound. 

He knocked, and Elia’s sweet voice beckoned him in.

He entered and saw the beautiful Dornish princess on the bed, with a baby in her arms. The guilt in Rhaegar’s stomach remained, but when he saw his child, it seemed less bitter.

Elia was pale, and she looked at Rhaegar with such a plain sadness, and said nothing.

They were stuck in an awkward standoff, Rhaegar itching to meet his child, but groping for words to say to Elia.

She would not meet his gaze. “Elia, I can’t… even begin…” He ran a nervous hand through his hair. “An apology isn’t enough for you. I can only beg for your forgiveness.” The words didn’t seem right. They didn’t seem enough.

She sighed. “Come meet your child,” she said, still looking at the baby.

He sat next to Elia on the bed, worried his touch might shatter this fragile situation. Rhaegar was enchanted. The baby had bright blue eyes, but had the tanned skin and dark hair of Dorne. The child gazed up at him, so innocent. It made Rhaegar try to pinpoint the exact moment innocence deserted him. He knew when he became aware that he was no longer innocent. He couldn’t remember what it was like to run for no reason. 

He wondered when the baby would be corrupted. How long the totally innocent and forgiving look would last in his eyes.

“What’s his name?” He whispered.

“Aegon.”

Rhaegar put his hand to the babe’s cheek, feeling the softness, and as with Rhaenys, he felt the overwhelming surge of fatherhood. 

“You left me, Rhaegar.” Elia’s voice disturbed his joy, and she finally looked up into his eyes. Her words made his heart constrict. He remained silent, knowing words was not what she needed. “I gave birth to your child. I know you don’t love me, but please, I just… I thought better of you.” Her voice was quivering, but she needed to remain strong. She needed him to know.

“Was she worth it?” She asked. It was not a bitter or jealous question. She genuinely wanted to know if Lyanna Stark was worth the turmoil.

She was indeed worth the turmoil, and yet, Rhaegar couldn’t bring himself to say it. 

“You’re a good man, Rhaegar. All through this… I still believe that. You came back to your child. You came back to fight. You’re still the best man I know.” She smiled, and it broke his heart. 

“Then you must know some pretty terrible men.” He smiled a small smile, and kissed her hands. 

“I mean it.” 

The days went on with spending time with his children, mother, and brother. Rhaegar rarely saw Aerys, but whenever he did, Rhaegar found himself no longer scared of him. The man that had tormented him and his mother his whole life had been reduced to a something that didn’t seem fully man. Non-sensical words spilled freely, without control, from his mouth. Rhaegar was the one who had to pull together the army. 

He wrote to Lyanna every day. He found himself finding it easier to look Elia in the eye, and he was welcomed back at court. He had heard talk, though. That he had kidnapped and raped Lyanna Stark. That that was the spark of the rebellion.

He wondered if he would ever be able to forgive himself.


	18. The Glory of Dying Men

War is hell. Everyone’s grand and sparkling armour was now dirty, dim and dented. All thoughts of glory and victory dissipated, as those thoughts were the thoughts of young men who had not been to battle. There was no glory, they discovered, in climbing over the bodies of their friends and fellow army. No glory in their bloated faces, slashed bodies floating in the trident. No glory in striking down the enemy, who were also just boys, fighting for a cause that everyone was starting to forget. No glory in people whispering their last goodbyes to their loved ones in their final moments, staring up at the bright blue sky, floating in the bloody and grim river.

He had read many, many books about the raging wars of the Seven Kingdoms. The glory, the victories, the losses. Writers are romantics, he realised. They had romanticised war. It wasn’t civilized, it wasn’t always with cause. There was never victory, not even for the side that won. It was impossible to have victory when so many people had died. And yet, the survivors would drink to victory that night, and write stories that romanticise death. 

It was a sight to behold, the beginning. Thousands of glory thirsty men in their polished army, screaming the war cry, advancing on the enemy. Rhaegar rode along the lines of the army, shouting at the top of his lungs words of inspiration and encouragement. Pleading the army to protect their precious Kingdom. 

“FIGHT FOR THE PEACE.” He said finally, simply. That was all he was fighting for.

It was a writhing mass of bodies, with the rings of swords and grunts of pain, the shallow splashes of the river. The screams of the wounded that nobody bothered to put out of their misery.

Rhaegar felt he was among equals on the battlefield. In his black shiny armour embedded with rubies, he still felt no better than the men he fought alongside. Time didn’t seem to pass. Rhaegar removed his helm when it became dented and hindered his eyesight. He gained a better view of the scene before him. So much death, so much pain, he wondered if their deaths would have any value. The fresh trident now stank of blood and dirt and sweat, and piss. The swift fighting now became ungainly, stumbling over the bodies of the dead. 

Suddenly, Rhaegar felt a pressure in his side. It didn’t hurt, but the area just under his ribcage became very numb. Confused, he ran a hand over it, and they came back covered in blood. And that’s when the pain set in. A stinging, unbearable pain. He had been stabbed. In a fit, he threw his sword onto the attacker, the exertion rendering his wound back to numbness, the adrenaline stopping the pain.

The attacker, a young boy. His helm was lost, and he couldn’t be older than fifteen. He was face to face with the Dragon Prince, and he was scared. 

Rhaegar felt pity as he stared into the young boys eyes, and he realised he would never know his name, or his business on a battlefield, as he struck him down. Rhaegar’s obvious strength was no match for the boy’s, as his blade sliced his belly, the armour splitting, the dull metal making way for the slimy purple snakes that were the boys intestines. 

He didn’t know how many people he killed that day. He would mourn them later.

“I have dreamed of killing you for a long time.” He heard strangely clear among the chaos of battle.

He turned to see a great heaving man, with antlers sprouting from his healm. Robert Baratheon. A great war hammer dangled from his hand.

Maybe Lyanna had doubted Robert’s love for her, but he knew now that he did indeed love her fiercely. Robert made for Rhaegar in a fury, swinging his hammer that Rhaegar narrowly dodged. It thumped beside him, shaking the ground. Though it was a slow weapon, one hit could be fatal.

It was only now that Rhaegar considered the fact he might not survive. A man’s skill counts for little in battle, as all the greatest warriors somehow met their match. Survival is luck in battle. You can strike down all the scared little boys, but their will always be someone who could catch their blade in your back. 

Rhaegar regained his footing, sobered at the thought of death. There was so much death around him it hardly seemed to matter, but as he stared at Robert’s eyes, it felt all too possible. He slammed the wound in his side with his fist when the pain started to resurface.

He dodged Robert’s thrusts with calculated footing, but with this footing he could never find a time to hit Robert with considerable force. Another man from the enemy thought he could share the glory of killing the dragon prince, as he doubled the attack on Rhaegar.

Defending himself from Robert and the unknown attack was near impossible, dodging blade and hammer. He fell to the ground, and sliced the unknown man’s shins. He cried out in pain, fell to the ground. Rhaegar did not bother to kill him quickly.

The battle was slowing. There were few left. As he caught glances of the scene around him, he realised that they were losing. He saw few soldiers bearing the crowns thing. The bodies had piled, and he noticed a young boy shrieking histerically under a horse’s corpse. They were the shrieks of a boy who’s last shred of sanity had left him.

Get back to Lyanna. 

As that last thought sped through his mind, Robert swung all of his strength into his war hammer, aiming for Rhaegar’s chest.

The rubies spilled from Rhaegar’s armour like rain. Delicate splashes into the river, that would lead children for hundreds of years in search of Rhaegar’s rubies. The sound of his ribcage snapping and crushing was plain. His armour and his body was dented. Whatever strength Rhaegar had once had had left him, his knees buckling. He fell backwards into a shallow part of the river, unable to move, blood flooding his lungs.

He could he Robert laughing. A strange sound amongst so much death. The laughing faded, and Rhaegar was left staring up into the sickening blue sky, water seeping into his armour.

An equal indeed. An equal to the rotting bodies.

Rhaegar was the light of the Targaryen line, a promise that the madness would subside and Westeros would be lead into greatness. That light was now snuffed out, and the madness of Westeros would continue for decades. The glory of Robert Baratheon would die out, and tyranny would reign. His last thought was not of the kingdom, not of the chaos, but the peace that was Lyanna. He thought about how he wouldn't be able to hold her hand during childbirth, about how he was never going to meet his own child. 

He whispered her name like a prayer.


	19. The Mother and The Wife

Rhaella screamed with insanity, as she heard the words leave the messengers lips. 

“HE’S MY CHILD, MY BABY, PLEASE, PLEASE GOD’S NO.” She cried. She thought maybe, just maybe, after Aerys was dead she would find peace. However, the consequences of his actions extended after his dead. Now her precious first son was dead. Rhaegar, who only wanted peace, met his end in the midst of chaos and war.

The heavily pregnant woman resided in Storm’s End. Her husband, slaughtered at the hands of Jaime Lannister, atop the iron throne. She did not cry for him. She only fled. 

She did cry for Elia. Raped and murdered by the mountain, Ser Gregor Clegane, a monstrous ally of Robert Baratheon. She cried for her grandchildren, mudered at the hands of the mountain too. It all seemed so worhtless, so needless. 

Rhaella, of course, did not know the promise Rhaegar made to Elia. ‘No harm shall come to you for as long as I live.’ The promise remained true, for Elia was weeping for his death when the Mountain raided her room. Even The Last Dragon could not protect Princess Elia from beyond the grave. He couldn’t shield her eyes from the murder of her children.

Children murdered only for the sake of ending the line of a family. The Targaryen dynasty was reduced to Rhaella running to Storm’s End. It was reduced to madmen, and murdered children. 

A storm raged mercilessly outside, the most ferocious one since the beginning of the long summer. She could hear the wind growling and roaring, threatening to tear apart the castle. 

“Something’s wrong,” She gasped as she lay on her bed. Through many miscarriages, Rhaella was no stranger to complicated pregnancies, but this felt very wrong and very different. 

The maesters assured her everything was okay, but she could hear their worried whispers, she could hear Viserys crying from the other side of the door. When she had entered labour, she could feel an immense strength inside her. An equally immense pain, too.

She knew tonight was the night she was going to die. If the babe lived, she welcomed death. She knew the Targaryen dynasty would continue. 

 

Arthur. Great, fierce, Arthur wept. In the tower of Joy, Arthur tried to look Lyanna in the eye, but couldn’t, and he wept. Friends since boys, Arthur thought of Rhaegar as a brother. He had sworn to protect him ever before he joined the Kingsguard. No words needed to be spoken, Arthur had received word of Rhaegar’s death, but Lyanna already knew. 

She felt it. A sudden, profound emptyness. A worthlessness. All the fight within her had violently dissipated. Rhaegar had become her strength, and he was gone. Their very souls were combined, and Lyanna wondered what she was now that he was gone. She did not cry. She couldn't find the tears. 

She finally understood Rhaegar’s poem. The darkness seemed all to welcoming, too comforting, too inviting. It threatened to swallow her whole. And she had no one to love her back away from it. 

She had never felt so empty. The only thing that filled her was the memory of Rhaegar. She remembered his kiss. His eyes. The way he said her name. The way he held her. She felt empty, but the all-consuming love for Rhaegar never left her. She didn’t know wether that made it harder or easier. She was also literally filled with Rhaegar. The baby grew, and instead of resentment, it comforted her.

When she found herself holding onto the edges of the windows, her toes curling over the edge, ready to fall, she need only look down on the swell of her stomach and she could feel Rhaegars arms around her. His sad voice in her ear, coaxing her away from the edge. 

Their love was insanity in life, and also in his death. She saw him constantly. She begged for his forgiveness, for not being there in his last dying breath. She begged for him to come back to her, or for her to go with him.

Then came the day she cried. Months later, she finally cried.

She cried because she did not see him anymore.


	20. The End

“GODS,” Lyanna cried in the writhes of childbirth. Sweat dripped from her brow, and she had never felt such a pain in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t be bothered to listen to the worries whispers of the mid-wife. She didn’t bother to notice the pooling blood at her thighs. It hurt too much. It seemed to blind her. She groped for his hand, needing his soothing touch. She groped at nothing. 

“My lady-“ The mid-wife cooed. “You’re going to have to push harder.”

“I’M PUSHING AS HARD AS I BLOODY CAN.” Lyanna growled. They did not deserve her anger, and yet, Lyanna couldn’t withold it. Frustrated groans loudly left her mouth. The birthing went on for hours, and she could no longer feel her extremeties. 

The baby was born. He screamed and cried, full of life. He was handed to Lyanna, but she could hardly feel the small baby. He was beautifully Stark, with chocolate brown eyes. Lyanna laughed through the sweat, blood and pain. She pressed her forehead to the baby’s, feeling an overwhelming sense of motherhood, a need to protect this child. She sensed Rhaegar within him, and smiled. 

She noticed that the nurses weren’t celebrating a successful birth, and wondered why. The baby was perfectly healthy. She noticed she hadn’t stopped bleeding. The blood continued to soak the already saturated sheets. 

“That’s why.” She whispered weakly to the baby. She couldn’t stop smiling, though. The baby was so full of life, it cooed and gurgled, and she knew he was going to live for a long time. She wished him a life of love and adventure, just as one she’d had.

She also noticed that the maester was doing nothing to mend her wounds. They knew all hope was lost. But they were wrong, she thought. Not all hope was lost, because she had this baby. This baby was going to live. 

She heard a commotion outside, but she couldn't sustain her weight to see what the problem was. She didn’t know it, but Ser Arthur Dayne was just murdered.

And Ned came through the door.

She cried very hard, such a familiar and kind face after so long.

“Brother.” She weeped. She held out her hand, and his sombre face was knotted with grief. 

“Lyanna.” He gasped

“I have missed you so very much.”

The image was impossible to process. There Lyanna was, after so long. She had barely changed, though she seemed less of a child but a woman now. There she lay, in a perfect pale blue dress. He thought the bedsheets were crimsom, hiked up to her thighs, but he soon realised it was blood. He had been reunited with Lyanna, but just as soon she would be snatched away. 

Ned, however, had changed very much, she almost didn’t recognise him. She left a boy in Harrenhal, now he was indeed a man. War-worn, rough stubble along his jaw, scarring in places there weren’t scars before. He was solemn before, but the war had aged him.

He placed a hand on her cheek and kissed her forehead.

“Is this…?” He let the baby’s hand envelope his finger. 

“Yes.” Was all she could manage. “Ned. I need you to listen. I loved him, I loved him so much it hurt. It hurts…”

Ned hushed her, trying to process the fact that they were in love. The thought had never occurred to him. So much was lost over a misunderstanding. So many dead.

The scent of the room was too sweet. Sickly with blood, the smell was attempted to be covered up with winter roses. It had started with winter roses, and it will end with them.  
“Lyanna, my sweet sister…” He had prayed he could take her back to Winterfell, so they could adjust to the new monarchy together. So he could protect her.

“Winterfell.” The word resounded on her lips. Her eyes became faraway.

“We’ll be there soon.” He lied, and she simply smiled. In the many months that had passed, Ned thought he would have many words to say. But he did not. He couldn’t find the correct words, nor the right way to say it. 

“I am so glad I got to see you again,” She whispered.

“As am I.” He began to cry.

“Promise me, Ned.” Her hand tightened and her eyes focused on him. “Please. Promise me you’ll protect him.” A tear ran down her cheek. “His name is Aegon.”

Lyanna was a ghost to many people. She haunted Rhaegar while he lived, Robert would never forget her. She haunted Ned for the rest of his life. Those words, ‘Promise me, Ned,’ would come unbidden to his mind for years to come. A source of pain and turmoil, even after she was gone. Lyanna Stark would haunt the minds of these men until their final days.

“I promise,” He whispered.

Through all the hate of the war, through all the murder, there was the love of Lyanna and Rhaegar. In the end, Lyanna was not weak. She did not lose herself, she was a warrior, just as she’d always been.

In a sea of grief and death, she smiled. She was going to see him again.


End file.
